Page 102 of Reading Between the Lines
Something didn’t sit right about the twins’ relationship, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it because their mother had taken off, and Londyn had gotten lost in the flow with two men at home and no female role model to guide her through puberty?
Something tickled the back of my brain, a sensation I’d felt once before. What was it? Trying to force the thought only drove it further away, but it screamed its importance in my ear.
Diem let out a strangled snort and groaned in his sleep on an exhale. Careful not to wake him, I drew the collar of his T-shirt aside and cringed at the deep purple bruising and swelling that had spread across his shoulder and collarbone. It looked terrible. Painful.
“You’re such a stubborn asshole sometimes.”
I went downstairs and got him an ice pack from Ivory’s undead husband. Wrapped in a towel, I applied it to Diem’s injury. He moaned and rolled his head to the side but didn’t wake. I kept it there as I watched the fading light of day wash over his face.
The winter sun went down early. By five, dusk had taken over the town, and Diem had shifted into a deep, soundless sleep. No more snoring. No more noises of discomfort. I removed the ice—it had mostly melted—and set it on the bedside table.
I kept returning to the niggling thought that wouldn’t surface, and the only thing I knew for sure was that it had something to do with the cabin in the woods. Had I seen something?
I pulled up the pictures I’d taken and browsed, but nothing stood out. Nothing triggered the thought. But I was right. I knew I was.
Inching off the bed, repeatedly checking that Diem remained asleep, I aimed for the bag of supplies Diem had taken from the trunk of the Jeep after the tree incident by the trail. I rooted inside until I found his lockpicking kit. I’d never used it, but I’d watched Diem on a few occasions. How hard could it be?
Quietly, I put on my coat and tucked the kit inside the pocket. My shoes were long past ruined. My feet had suffered from cold and wet the entire time we’d been in Port Hope. One more trip into the woods wouldn’t make them worse, and I had to get a look inside that cabin.
Diem had ingested enough whiskey that I suspected he wouldn’t wake until morning, so I grabbed the keys to the rental Jeep and snuck out the door.
The drive to the trailhead didn’t take long. Traffic in Port Hope was thin even during rush hour. Instead of parking under the trees along the side of the gravel lot, I left the Jeep in the middle, away from potentially falling branches—not that I thought the culprit would try the same trick a second time.
With the sun kissing the horizon, the path under the trees was ominous and darker than usual. I kept telling myself that Nicholas’s dad wouldn’t be around. It was the dinner hour. He would be at home with his kids or at the bar having a liquid supper. He would not be haunting the woods with a rifle and dog.
Running into a group of potentially homicide-happy teens was another story. I could have waited until midnight, but creepingthrough the woods was bad enough at dusk, never mind in the pitch dark.
I reached the rickety wire fence and climbed over. Clumsier without Diem there to assist, my trousers caught on a loose wire, sending me off-balance. I fell, ripping a nasty hole in the fabric.
“Goddammit.” All my good clothes would be ruined at this rate. At least the wire hadn’t gouged my leg. The last thing I needed was tetanus.
I scanned the quiet forest as I advanced toward the cabin, alert for signs I might not be alone. The stupidity of my decision didn’t sink in until the utter seclusion of my adventure took root. Trees in every direction. A racing river a hundred or so yards away. What if I ended up in trouble? No one would hear me call for help. No one would hear me scream. Would my fate be similar to Weston’s?
I shivered at the thought.
Heart pounding, I glanced back from where I’d come and debated leaving, racing back to our shared room and curling up next to my ornery boyfriend. Diem would not approve of my spontaneity. Hell, if he knew what I was up to, he would lose his mind.
But the cabin was in sight. I was close enough it would be foolish to turn around. I only wanted to take a look. Five minutes at most. I’d seen something important, and I needed to figure out what. It was like a word on the tip of your tongue. I could taste it. The answer was right there. All I needed was a quick peek.
I continued toward the cabin, undergrowth snagging my pant legs. The snap of a twig in the distance made me jump. A gust of wind rustled a few dry leaves overhead. My nerves jittered, and goose bumps crawled over my already cold skin.
I was not a chickenshit. No one was out here but me.
Reaching the cabin without incident, I peeked in a window. The room beyond was barely visible without the sun shining in the windows. No lights on. No people inside. I made my way to the door and tried the knob, not surprised to find it locked.
I tugged the lockpicking kit from my pocket and studied its contents. On my phone, I searched YouTube for lockpicking tutorials, skimming for a quick video that might show me the basics. I didn’t have twenty minutes to spare, and most content creators like to talk. In retrospect, I should have watched a few before leaving the room.
Splitting my attention between the surrounding forest and the video eating up my data, I got a basic idea of what I was meant to do. It seemed straightforward until I put what I learned into practice.
After ten minutes of fighting with the lock and cursing up a storm, I gave up and watched another video. Diem made it look easy. I should have forced him to teach me sooner.
The forest was completely dark by this point, and I couldn’t see beyond a few feet in any direction. My fingers were numb from the cold, and it made using my phone difficult. My second attempt to pick the lock saw success in under three minutes, and I silently cheered. Diem would have been proud—after he reamed me out for being irresponsible.
I slipped inside the dark cabin and closed the door behind me, engaging the lock, instantly more at ease since I was no longer exposed. I took a second to calm my racing heart and to listen for anything that sounded out of place. I kept expecting a dog to howl in the distance or a chain saw to rev to life. Every horror movie I’d seen growing up came back to me, and I was the brain-dead character doing stupid shit the audience warned him against.
“Fuck me.”
Instead of turning on a light—it might draw attention to someone out in the forest—I used my phone flashlight to look around. I could make out the furniture and shelves but not much beyond. No true detail. That would require closer inspection, but I wasn’t ready to move.
